Longing For Roots and Wildness

On my first post-jet-lag day in Germany I took my partners to my favorite local spring. It was muddy and as soon we stepped out of the car, I thought I smelled mushrooms. I grew up hunting mushrooms, from the time I was old enough to walk through the forest to the year the Chernobyl disaster prevented us from foraging. But as soon as it was reasonably safe to eat local mushrooms again, my family was back in the forest looking for lepiotas, shaggy manes, chanterelles, and boletes. Our most prized mushrooms have always been Steinpilze, the German King Bolete, a rare and delicious species that resembles smurf houses.  

As soon as I had said hello to my spring, filled my water bottles, and sprinkled myself with life giving water, I dashed off into the woods, feet sinking into the deep moss, giggling and running among the moist cool trees. I saw a woman with a basket in the distance, hunting for mushrooms, and as soon as I looked around I let out a triumphant shout and ran toward a beautiful Steinpilz. I felt as if the spring and the forest were welcoming me home. I proudly returned home with a handful of Steinpilze and my aunt sat down immediately to prepare the mushrooms.

Later that day my partners and I went on a hike in the nearby Taunus mountains. While the two of them were busy processing new impressions, I felt overwhelmed by the familiarity of my surroundings, even though I had never been to this particular part of the country before. Everything in the forest felt somehow right to me. The air smelled exactly the way it should, the moss had just the right thickness, and the way the light broke through the branches was precisely the way I expected it. I felt alive as childhood memories danced through my mind and my body felt at ease in my ancestral lands.

And suddenly I started thinking about living here again. Why shouldn’t I? Why would I live in a land that is not my own instead of the land that raised me? I felt a pang of longing, a longing to be rooted once again in the country that grew me. I touched my hands to the ground and rubbed dirt between my fingers. It was thick, heavy with clay, full of little rocks and tiny roots. I knew the name of nearly every plant along the path and chewed on the ones that were edible.

Then we arrived at the observation tower. The wood was dark from the rain, stained green in many places by a thin layer of moss. We climbed to the top and looked at the surrounding villages, one in every valley, streets criss-crossing between the hills. Thick wires ran from the top of the tower down the side of the stairs, and as we looked up, we saw antennas and dishes that indicated the observation platform doubled as a cellphone tower.

We watched the clouds pass by and dump rain on some of the villages and took pictures of the landscape. “Civilization is everywhere”, I said to my partners. “Nature here isn’t wilderness. It is all managed, every forest is, every patch of land is maintained by humans, even nature preserves.”

We took a wrong turn on our way back and before long we were in a small town on the other side of the woods. I reflected on how safe it felt to be lost in nature in Germany. There were no bears to fear, no wolves, no mountain lions, no dangerous plants, no poisonous snakes, and there were villages in every direction within a few hours’ walk.

I knew I would miss the wild if I ever moved back. When we returned to the retreat center, exhausted and glad to have a warm meal waiting for us, I felt a sadness wash over me. “Your soul needs the wild,” my friend Peter, who founded Restoring Eden, always says. He is right. As much as my body remembers this land of my ancestors and childhood, I know I will eventually feel the claustrophobia of civilization at every corner, making life so safe and comfortable and tamed.

I can feel myself holding both within in me, the longing for my ancestral lands, and the wilderness of the American West Coast. I wish there was a way to have both, the comfort of the familiar and depth of my roots, as well as the adventure of the wild that calls to my soul. But I know I will have to live in both worlds and longing will be a part of me, always.